The Joys of Bartending X

It’s been quite some time since I’ve written about bartending.  Not because nothing funny has been happening but because I thought everyone was sick of hearing about it.  I’ve been getting requests to start back up so I figured I would start with something a bit different.  Instead of talking about the nutjobs I serve drinks to I will ease back into it by talking about me as a bartender.

I’m 48 years old and I’m wondering when I should be retiring from this portion of my life. It’s 4:30 AM and I just got done eating “breakfast” because I didn’t eat “dinner”.  I use those terms loosely because when I bartend, traditional meals and sleep schedules are completely thrown out the window.

My ankles feel like they’ve been hit by Kathy Bates in the movie Misery.  The only difference is that it happened over and over again, starting about 9:00 PM.  I wouldn’t mind Kathy showing up right now to tend to my wounds, as sad as that is.

The bottom of my feet feel like I’m continuously walking over one of those nubby shower mats…that’s upside down.  I would like to throw that mat away.  My shoes had a small but noticeable blow out by the big toe, even it gave out.

My thighs are chaffed from my jeans, it’s a miracle that a fire wasn’t started with all the rubbing together that happened during my shift.  I’m sure there’s some sort of salve or powder for that….I will Google it as soon as I’m done here.  I think I will stay clear of the powder as that sounds like I would find some sort of paste when I got home.  Kind of like Ross from Friends when he wore leather pants.

As I’m moving up my body I will spare you all the details of parts of my body that sweat, that until I bartended I didn’t know it was possible for them to sweat.  I will tell you that I cannot wear enough layers to stop that annoying river that runs down the crack of my….well….you know.

Speaking of my ass, my back is very very tired of holding it up and I’m pretty sure it’s the reason my ankles and feet feel the way they do.  My entire body is waging a protest against the size of my ass, I should probably do something about that.  A red DOT flag is pending.

My bra gave up hours ago and the underwire has worked its way out to poke me in the top of the breast.  I wonder how long one has been hanging that much lower than the other?  I’m sure the shirt I’m wearing (otherwise known as an upper body pressure bandage (God Bless Sam who I stole that line from)) does not hide anything so I dare to bet someone noticed and I am the subject of their social media post or their blog story.   I have no doubt I have been on a People of Walmart post at some point in my life.

Bartending is not for the faint of heart and not just because of the people you have to deal with.  I know the skinniest of people who struggle with hurting body parts after a long shift.  It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it.  Let’s hope I won’t have to do it for much longer.  Oh, that reminds me, I need to go buy a lottery ticket.

 

 

 

 

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